The Christmas Triangle
by Mary Jane Parker
Summary: Topanga hugs Shawn and fixes him a spot on the couch, but is she really happy to see him for Christmas?


Very little surprised Topanga Matthews these days. She knew that she had just as much of a chance of coming home to a house decorated completely in cork as she had of coming home to find their small refrigerator stocked entirely with chocolate pudding cups. One day in November she'd come home to a complete reorganization of the tiny living room that had included moving the fish tank out onto their terrace. There had been much celebration when the fish decided to live after being thawed from the resulting block of ice.

She clerked while Cory edited copy on Madison Avenue for a pittance and took classes for a Masters in English at NYU. He was home more often than she was and when Dickens, Rushdie, and Waugh became too much, moving things around became the best and cheapest mode of procrastination. (They'd had a long, long talk about ordering from QVC early in their city tenure when Topanga realised that they really did have an egg timer in ever color). It was nice in a way, knowing that she would come home from work everyday and Cory would be there ready to breathe a new energy into her for the evening.

Shawn and Eric had left New York nearly as quickly as they'd arrived. Her husband's antics were enough to give her something to tell her coworkers and secretly she enjoyed being _just_ Cory and Topanga Matthews.

Unanimously they'd decided that while they didn't want to be in the city for New Year's Eve, they wanted to at least _try_ having a 'grownup' Christmas. It was their first Christmas alone as a married couple and that's how they wanted it, even if it meant not seeing their family and friends until a few days after. Claiming the decorating as his mission for the week, Cory promised Topanga that by Christmas Eve when she came home from the firm the entirety of the small apartment would be filled with Christmas cheer.

"The apartment has been Christma-fied! We have eggnog!"

It certainly couldn't be said that Cory wasn't true to his word. Topanga had barely set her briefcase down before a Santa hat was being waved in her face and something the looked like a burnt Christmas cookie was shoved under her nose. She suspected she was supposed to eat it. "Cory! You… cooked!" Instead of eating the proffered treat she kissed him on the cheek instead. It seemed a fair trade.

"_We_ cooked!" The cookie retracted and Cory grabbed her arm, dragging her through the living room and into the kitchen where the smell of burnt baked goods was far stronger than it had been before. There had indeed been cooking and there was indeed a 'we'.

"Shawn." Topanga's voice was as slow as the smile that came to her lips. "What a surprise."

And it was at that. Her mouth moved almost comically as she processed the sight of Cory wrapping his arm around Shawn, both of them wearing red and white Santa hats cocked jauntily to the sides of their heads. She noticed the little things— the way Shawn's hand squeezed Cory's shoulder and the way Cory's head was tilted almost into the crook of Shawn's neck. They were using the potholders they'd made when they'd been in the same second grade class together; crafts that Topanga could have sworn had been boxed up in Cory's old room back in Philadelphia. She lifted a hand to push a strand of hair from her face, trying to pretend that she wasn't noticing that dimple in Cory's left cheek that she swore she never saw unless Shawn was around.

"Hey, Topanga!" She couldn't help watching Shawn's fingers linger on Corey's shoulders before he stepped over to wrap his arms around her and lift her up off the floor in a hug. It had been months since he'd left the last time, suddenly deciding that there were old Mid-Western prisons calling for him and his camera. She'd left them alone to bid each other goodbye and ignored the fact that a simple 'goodbye for now' had taken thirty-six minutes.

"It's—when did you get back? Believe me when I say that I am _completely_ surprised to see you," she said placing a perfunctory smile on her lips as she hugged him back. "How are you? How was—was it Ohio? Kansas? I can't even remember where the last postcard was from!"

"Leavenworth Federal Prison. Kansas," Shawn said with a grin. "I can show you the prints—they're actually going to sell. I've got a contract with a gallery in SoHo and I'm going to be in the city for awhile. Cory said the couch would be alright for Christmas if you were okay with it…yes? Please?" He batted his eyes at her and on cue Cory did as well, but Topanga knew it was in jest. They weren't expecting any answer other than yes.

And why would they have been? As far as they were concerned, any and all grievances about the amount of time they spent together had been worked out at the alter --_literally_-- between the three of them. Cory and Shawn would always be Cory and Shawn, but Cory and Topanga were always meant to come first. They'd promised, and as far as they were concerned they'd kept that promise. They couldn't see or simply didn't notice the way Cory lit up around Shawn in a way he never did for her. Topanga certainly wasn't going to bring it up.

Instead, she smiled and gave Shawn one last squeeze. "The couch is yours. I'll get the blankets."

---

They were having a flour fight in the kitchen when she reemerged from their bedroom about an hour later, now dressed in her Pennbrook sweats and carrying a heap of blankets. Corey was wiping the white power from Shawn's nose before Shawn hooked his arm around Corey's neck and wrestled him down the ground and they laughed like ten year olds until Topanga cleared her throat.

"So… have you heard from _Angela_ lately?"

"Emails, a few pictures. She's in Paris." Shawn climbed up off of Corey, her words having had the desired effect of dampening the mood ever so slightly.

She dumped the blankets on the couch and then went to help her husband up off the floor. She moved her thumb over his nose and cheeks to remove the last few dustings of flour that the impromptu wrestling session hadn't gotten rid of. "Is she still with her dad?"

"I think so, yeah. At least, he's somewhere in France." He paused and there was an uncomfortable silence before he shook his head, pushed his bangs away from his face in typical Shawn fashion, and smiled again. "Could I, uh, grab a beer or something?"

"We've got eggnog, burnt Christmas cookies, and chocolate pudding," Cory said, pulling open the fridge from behind Topanga.

She pointed towards the phone. "And Chinese as soon as we order. Which, I could do… now?" She eyed Cory until he nodded. When she picked up the phone to order it rolled off her tongue as if they were still in High school. Vegetable lo mein and sweet and sour pork for her, General Tso's for Cory, and carrots, beef, and broccoli in ginger sauce for Shawn. There was a lot that hadn't changed.

The boys left together to pick up the order from the store just down the street. When they came back with both the food, a bottle of wine, and a few boxes of candy canes it was obvious that they'd gone further than The Tasty Panda, but there was no explaining iwhat/i had taken them nearly an hour. Their cheeks and necks were rosy red from the cold and whatever else, and the food needed to be zapped in the microwave. Topanga didn't ask any questions and after they both hugged her hello again her nerves were soothed. It was always a nice, temporary salve when they included her.

---

"I love Shawn."

"I know. I just don't—"

"I know. I know it's… it's _them_ right?"

"Him and Cory? Yes, and I… I thought we'd settled this, you know? And it was different when we were all at college, because we were supposed to be together all the time and I thought it would be okay when we got to New York, but they are just—it's supposed to be Cory and Topanga Matthews, not Cory, Topanga, and Shawn Matthews."

"Yeah," Angela sighed over the phone and Topanga flopped over in the king sized bed she was currently alone in. "Like I said, I love Shawn to pieces but then, the last time I saw him I realised I can't do it anymore. No offense, Topanga, but your husband was pretty much in bed with us, and the last time I saw Shawn we were in _Berlin_."

"They're just so close and what kind of wife would I be if I told Cory that it bothers me when he hangs out with his best friend? They haven't seen each other in months. This is just a few days." She bit down on her lower lip. "He said he's going to be here for awhile though."

"I know, the gallery deal. He told me," Angela said. "And, girl, don't feel bad, you _told_ him about this before you got married and I thought Shawn understood that he and Cory couldn't be—" She paused mid-sentence, cleared her throat, and spoke again. "I thought it was solved."

Topanga willed herself not to wonder exactly what her friend had been about to say. "So did I. It was easier, you know, because he wasn't here?"

"Yeah, well, if he's anything like Shawn? Then he was _always_ there," she sighed again. "Topanga, Cory loves you. No one's ever going to doubt that. He just… also loves Shawn. And Shawn loves him—believe me, we've had this conversation. But the point is Cory loves you and you're a hell of a lot better about everything else than I was. Cory knows you come first and Shawn gets that. The three of you are gonna have a good Christmas, okay?"

It wasn't the most comforting phone call.

---

Topanga woke up on Christmas morning to the smell of bacon wafting through the apartment. She was alone in bed yet again and she could hear Cory and Shawn shouting at each other in the kitchen. They were trying, and most likely failing, to cook Christmas breakfast. Topanga almost smiled when the smell of bacon turned smoky and shoved her feet into slippers before shuffling out to the rest of the apartment.

"Merry Christmas!!"

She was greeted by shouts and kisses to both cheeks right in the kitchen doorframe and underneath the mistletoe. After Shawn stepped back Cory found her lips after a moment and they kissed for a longer moment until he pulled away and grinned. "We made you breakfast."

"How long have you been up?" she asked, peering over his shoulder at the smoky stove.

The two men glanced between each other, before Shawn smiled and answered, "Six. We played video games for awhile."

Video games? Yes, it was probably a rousing game of Soul Calibur that had marked Cory's neck red in several places. Topanga ignored them. It was Christmas. She slung their arms around both of their shoulders and nodded at the food. "Do I see pancakes? And sausage? I didn't know we had sausage!"

"We didn't, but Duane Reede did." Cory led her over to the table in their nook and pulled out her chair. "They had hash browns too."

"Cory Matthews, you shouldn't have," she laughed as they both went about getting down plates and cups. If the stickiness of the counter was of any indication, they'd squeezed fresh orange juice as well.

After breakfast they exchanged gifts and for awhile they sat in the living room by the Christmas tree and it was _her_ head in the crook of Cory's neck. Occasionally she would tilt her head and kiss him, doing her best to make those already bruised spots her own and forcing herself to assume that that dimple in his left cheek was there because of her.

At around three it was suggested that someone pull out a board game, at least until it was time to head out for dinner. While Cory dug around for Monopoly, Shawn looked up at Topanga. "Good Christmas, yeah? I'm glad I came back."

"I am too," she answered, and sometimes --because Shawn wasn't ijust/i the third wheel in their relationship, but her friend-- she meant it.


End file.
